


...heals all wounds

by anotherplaceintime (marvelleous)



Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, F/M, Healing, Please read the author's notes before continuing, This takes place during 5x12: Never My Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26123434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelleous/pseuds/anotherplaceintime
Summary: God shield my beloved, my white dove, and the child within her. Preserve her from violence and from harm, wherever she may be, on this night and every night until I find her.Jamie comes home to find that his wife is gone.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 124
Kudos: 254





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are no graphic depictions of violence in this story, and it is told solely from Jamie's point of view. It does take place during the season five finale, so if you feel that any allusions to that episode in this story may trigger you, please do not read it. It was inspired entirely by a [tweet](https://twitter.com/erinmangerer/status/1298598956704976896?s=20) from [Erin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erinmangerer/pseuds/erinmangerer). This story is unedited, and I take responsibility for any and all errors you may find.

His hands are shaking.

They haven't stopped, not since Germain whispered those five words and he'd run into the house, finding the surgery in disarray, Marsali passed out on the ground with Claire nowhere to be seen.

She'd been taken, ripped from the safety of their home, the one he'd built to protect her, to keep her safe, to keep _their family_ safe.

The bairn…

God, he can't even bring himself to think of it, to wonder, to hope. 

It had been the only source of comfort, the only light in their hearts after Brianna had made the decision to leave them, to go back to _her_ time. The wee thing, nestled in Claire's belly, only just beginning to make its presence known. They hadn't told anyone yet, only their daughter, letting her know that she'd have a new sibling, one who would grow up on stories of her.

He'd spent many an evening lying beside his wife, marvelling at her body, the curve of her belly where their wee miracle slept. She kept her _condition_ hidden during the day, under all the bindings and skirts, but alone in their room, he watched her flourish and grow. They had planned to let the rest of their family know soon, just wanting to wait until she was further along, where there would be less chances of things going wrong.

Christ, he had so many fears, losing another child, losing his wife, or both, having to watch her in pain or bleeding out, helpless to save her. 

He'd even asked if she wanted to go back through the stones with Brianna, to make sure the bairn was safely delivered. She'd gotten so angry at him then, fuming and raging and then crying, clutching at his shirt with both hands and begging him to never ask that of her again. 

And now…

He cannot bring himself to picture it, cannot do anything but fall to his knees and pray.

_God shield my beloved, my white dove, and the child within her. Preserve her from violence and from harm, wherever she may be, on this night and every night until I find her._

* * *

When he finds her battered, bloody and broken, curled up on her side, arms wrapped around her belly, he cannot bring himself to ask.

_Had the bairn survived?_

All that matters to him is that she is safe and whole and in his arms once more, but the sight of her pains him, seeing her tears, tinged red as they run down her bruised cheeks - it makes his blood boil. It takes all the control he's mastered in his fifty years to not turn around and kill those men that dared to harm her, tear them limb from limb with his bare hands.

But she _needs_ him, beside her, holding her.

The whimper that escapes her lips when he lifts her into his arms causes a crack in his heart, but he keeps steady, pulling up his tartan around her, swallowing back tears himself when he sees the splatters of dried blood on her shift.

_She was safe, she was whole._

_Nothing else mattered._

* * *

They stop by a river on their journey home, and he cannot take his eyes off her, watching her each and every movement.

The single crack grows into two, branching off, his heart dangerously close to shattering each time she winces. She hides it well, his Sassenach, but he's always been able to see right through her.

He stands at a distance, wanting to give her any space she might need. She’d flinched when he helped her down from the cart earlier, but he doesn’t know if it’s from her physical injuries, or that she’s now lucid enough to not want him near her. God, it was his fault she had suffered like this, his fault that she’s here with him, and not safe, in the future with their daughter. 

When she asks about Marsali, he feels pain, deep in his chest, and it takes everything within him to hold back, to not ask her if _their_ child had survived. He tries to be reassuring when he gives her the news that Bree has come home, hoping that a small piece of good news would help her rest easier, to make up for all the pain. 

* * *

When she yells, delivers a speech that will forever be ingrained in his mind, he finds he can only focus on one thing. 

_I have lost a child._

Singular. 

They rarely speak of Faith, but he thinks of their wee lass everyday, carries her within his mind and within his heart and he knows that Claire does the same. The time they spent in Paris is still a sore subject, even after all these years, tainted by the loss of their firstborn, something they both blamed themselves for. 

She’s turned away from him, shaking, trembling like a leaf in the wind and what he wouldn’t give to walk up behind her, hold her in his arms and promise to protect her. 

But he’d made those promises before, had he not?

And yet here he is, having failed her once more. 

It gives him a flare of hope though, that the child may still live, but he doesn’t know how to ask. 

_Have I killed this one also? Is it my fault that you suffer so?_

* * *

He gets his answer a few mornings later, when Claire is sitting up in bed, staring out the window and watching the sun rise, her hands resting over the swell of her belly. The entire scene before him is so peaceful, save for the horrific bruises on her face and the knowledge of what she’s been through. 

What he wouldn’t give to raise those men from the dead so he could kill them all over again, make them feel just one bit of the pain they’ve brought upon his family. 

He sits down on the bed beside her, careful to keep a little distance between them. She still curled up to him when they slept, but the moment she was conscious once more he could feel her withdrawing and he’s never hated himself more. When he sees the frown forming on her face, her hand raising to cover her mouth, he moves closer. 

“Are ye in any pain, mo ghraidh?” 

She shakes her head, looking down at where her other hand is resting and then back up at him. 

“Could you get me some ginger tea?” she whispers, voice cracking as she speaks, and then he’s out the door, racing downstairs to the kitchen, heart pounding in his chest. 

_Thank you, Lord._

* * *

They’re sitting together by the fire one night, the rest of the house having gone to sleep, but Claire had been restless and quietly asked for his company. 

_Did she not know that he would give her his life?_

“I thought of you,” she tells him, head resting against his shoulder, her hand over his heart, covered by his own. 

“Hmm?”

“In the night, when I had nothing else to hold on to,” she continues, and he feels it, the moment the first tear hits the fabric of his shirt. “I thought of you, holding me, and our baby.”

She cries and cries and he does too, out of pain, out of relief, that by some small miracle they’re here together once more, and have something to look forward to. 

Their daughter had returned to them, and their fifth grandchild would soon be born. 

They had been given a second chance, to raise a family together. 

* * *

The bruises on her body are beginning to heal when she finally allows him to see her again. 

He’s sitting in bed, readying himself to go to sleep when she sits down beside him and slides her shift off. 

The fabric pools around her waist, and he takes it all in, the purple-blue markings on her pearl-white skin, the angry gash above her right breast and the curve of her belly, more pronounced than when he last set eyes on it. 

He holds her tightly in his arms as they make love, near to silent gasps as they breathe each other in, each trying to consume the other, to become one as they are meant to be. 

“How do you feel,” he murmurs, looking down at her, feeling her relax into his embrace.

_“Safe.”_

They lie there until the air of the night chills their skin, and he’s about to move and grab the blanket from the foot of the bed when he feels it, a gentle nudge against his hip. 

“Was that…” he begins to ask, trailing off when she nods, bringing his hand to rest over their child, who greets him with a kick. 

It’s he who begins to weep then, having so many things he needs to say to her, to thank her for protecting their wee miracle, to apologise for all of his past mistakes, to renew his promise to protect her, but she silences him with a gentle kiss, hand cupping his jaw as she brushes her lips over his. 

_“We love you.”_

There’s a storm brewing in the distance, the quiet patter of raindrops against the roof, and so many uncertainties in their future, but it is in this moment that his heart begins to heal. 


	2. Chapter 2

Claire seems to grow larger by the day, and soon the entire Ridge is congratulating them on their joyous news. Of course he hears whispers, rumours floating around that _Mistress Fraser_ _must really be a witch,_ because women her age are usually far past carrying.

He puts an end to those, spends an evening calling on all the tenants he'd heard speaking of it and telling them it wouldn't do to _upset_ his wife with lies. His demeanour is calm, his words non-threatening, but he keeps his hand on his dirk the entire time, and thinks they've understood his message. 

Claire finds out of course.

The very next evening, when they're curled up in bed together. His head is resting against the top of her belly, his hand cupping the large bump, feeling their bairn tumble around inside her. She runs her fingers through his hair, her nails gently scoring his scalp and it's almost lulled him into a sleep-like trance when she speaks up.

"You didn't have to go around and threaten our tenants, Jamie. I'm not some delicate flower, in danger of wilting over some rumours we both know to be false."

He sits up then, taking her face in his hands and pressing a kiss to her forehead, allowing his lips to linger.

"I ken, mo ghraidh."

If anything, she is strong and hardy, like the weeds that can live through the harshest of winters.

He tells her exactly that, and receives a none-too-gentle swat on the arm for his efforts.

* * *

One morning, after returning from the fields, he watches her moving around in her wee garden, collecting herbs. 

She almost topples over, losing balance after she gets up from filling her basket, and he's by her side in a flash, hands reaching for her hips and holding her firmly in place. 

"Sassenach," he whispers, ready to scold her for not taking enough care of herself.

She leans her head back against his shoulder, turning to brush her nose along his jaw and he breathes a sigh of relief.

"I think we should get someone else tae take care of yer chores," he suggests, but they both know it's an order.

For once, she listens.

* * *

He notices it when she's close to seven months gone, the change in how she walks, the way she always keeps one hand at the base of her spine, the other resting low on the curve of her belly. When he mentions it, he makes the mistake of referring to her wee waddle as _a change in gait_ and she bursts into tears.

_"I'm not one of your breeding mares, Jamie!"_

He spends the evening sleeping downstairs, but she's there when he wakes in the morning, a cup of tea in hand and an apologetic smile on her face.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, setting her drink down onto the table and making her way over to him. 

He's surprised when she doesn't sit down beside him, and a little too excited when she climbs on top of him, letting her shift pool at her hips. Before he can make any objections, because Christ, what if one of the bairns catches them in the act, she begins rocking against him and his reservations about the matter vanish entirely.

Brianna later draws him aside and whispers that she's glad they still have so much passion for each other, but asks if they could maybe put _a sock on the doorknob_ next time they planned on _being intimate._

Later that night, he leaves a stocking over the handle of their bedroom door and upon seeing it and hearing about his conversation with their daughter, Claire laughs so hard she goes red in the face. 

* * *

Claire isn't pleased when he asks her to stop seeing patients. 

In fact, they have quite the stramash over it.

She's close to picking up a jewellery box from her armoire and hurling it in the direction of his head when she winces, hand flying to her belly.

His anger fades in an instant.

"What is it, mo nighean donn? Is it the bairn?"

She closes her eyes, shaking her head for a moment and then nodding, allowing him to quietly guide her over to their bed. He finds himself unable to breathe, just watching her face until the pain appears to fade away.

"I'll tell Marsali to take over with the surgery until after the baby comes," she concedes. 

Seeing his worry, she draws his hand to rest over her bump, so he can feel for himself that the bairn is alive and well. 

It doesn't help him sleep any better that night, lying awake into the early hours of the dawn and just watching her, needing to see for himself that she's okay.

* * *

Amidst the pure unadulterated joy he's felt throughout Claire's entire pregnancy, has been a lingering dread, always worrying that something will go horrible wrong. 

His anxiety only worsens as the bairn's arrival draws nearer, but he's truly pushed over the edge when he overhears Claire's conversation with their daughter. 

She'd been confined to their rooms for the past month, entirely irritable about it, and using his love for her to keep him at her side. How could he possibly deny her when she turned to him, tears swimming in those whisky eyes, pleading with him to keep her company? 

He had returned from his chores one evening, and at the sound of her voice, frozen in the hall outside.

"Promise me that if anything happens, you'll be here for your father?"

His brave wee Sassenach had been assuring him that all would be well, but he could see the fear in her eyes. Hearing her speak about it is infinitely more terrifying.

_"Mama, nothing bad is going to happen. The worst thing to come out of all of this will be me explaining to Jemmy why he's older than his aunt or uncle."_

He'd heard their laughter and then pulled away before he could hear any more. 

When Claire is asleep that night, lying on her side, curls fanned out around her head, he kneels beside her and prays.

Prays that at the end of all of this, he'll still have his wife.

* * *

Claire's pains begin in the middle of the night, and though she tries her best not to wake him, he feels it the moment she sits up in bed.

"I'll go and fetch Marsali," he tells her, but she shakes her head, clinging to his shirt.

"No, it will be a while yet," she tells him, and though he hates the thought of seeing her in pain, he's so thankful that he'll be at her side this time, to support her through it all. 

"Just hold me," she whispers, and he's happy to comply.

He rubs her back and whispers words of reassurance as she begins to cry out from the pain. Each and every whimper is like a knife through his gut but he holds himself steady, knows that he can't lose a hold of himself

_Claire needs him._

The sun rises and sets and their child has clearly inherited both their stubbornness, because still it refuses to come. With each passing hour his fear grows, and he knows that he's scaring poor Marsali because she won't make eye contact with him after she checks Claire once more. 

"Ye're gettin' closer," she says, but Claire sees through her lies, and they send her off to get some sleep, promising to wake her if they need her assistance.

There's little change over the next couple of hours.

After a particularly horrific wave of pain that has her biting down into a pillow to muffle her cries, Claire turns to him, sweat-dampened hair plastered to her skin, body heaving with each breath, face flushed red with exertion.

"Tell me you love me, Jamie," she murmurs, and he feels as though all the colour is fading from the room.

_If my last words are not 'I love you', ye'll ken it was because I didna have time._

He shakes his head, grasping her hand and pulling it to his lips, pressing kiss after kiss against her knuckles. 

"We still have time, mo ghraidh. So much time together. We'll raise our bairn and watch our grand-bairns grow up and you willna leave me until we're both grey and so old we cannae lie together any longer. And when ye do part this earth, so shall I, for we are meant tae be together."

She looks as though she's about to respond to him when she cries out once more, her nails digging into his flesh.

"Jamie, the baby's coming. I feel it," she tells him between grunts of pain. He tries to stand, intent on fetching Marsali, but Claire won't let go of his hand.

"Please don't leave me."

_"Never, mo ghraidh."_

He thought he had known fear before, but the next hour is the most terrified he's ever been. Claire screams and writhes and calls him all sorts of names, cursing his _wee swimmers_ as he kneels between her legs, ready to welcome their bairn into the world. 

There's one final blood-curdling shriek and the babe slides into his hands, face scrunched up, limbs flailing and covered in blood and other fluids. 

He begins to cry then, vision blurring with tears as he holds _his_ bairn, who promptly begins to squall, unhappy at being forced to leave the comfort of a mother's womb.

"Oh, she's so beautiful," he hears Claire sob, and he blinks several times, processing the words.

Another wee lass. 

He moves, placing their _daughter_ between Claire's breasts and leaning down to kiss his wife, tasting the salt of their mingling tears.

"I love you," he whispers when they pull apart.

Claire raises one hand to cup his cheek, brushing her thumb over the rough stubble and smiles up at him.

"And I you."

Their daughter lets out a rather indignant squawk and he laughs, shaking his head and resting a hand over her body.

"And we love ye too, m'annsachd."


End file.
